


A Christmas Carol

by songofthe52hertzwhale



Category: Dalton Academy Series
Genre: Christmas, Inspired by A Christmas Carol, M/M, Magic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-06
Updated: 2017-01-06
Packaged: 2018-09-15 05:24:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,585
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9220634
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/songofthe52hertzwhale/pseuds/songofthe52hertzwhale
Summary: Logan intends to spend Christmas alone, drinking himself into oblivion and ignoring the fact that he's blown it with Julian. But the spirits of Christmas past, present, and future have other plans.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Belated Christmas fic

Logan was miserable.

 

It wasn’t an entirely uncommon state of mind for him, to be honest. He spent a good seventy percent of his time caught between hating the world and hating himself (the other thirty percent consisted of sleeping). But at this time of year, he usually had _something_ to distract himself from how much his life sucked. Last year had brought the unending enjoyment of watching Derek struggle to keep his six girlfriends—all of whom had decided to spend the holidays with the so-called “love of their life”—from finding out about each other (and, eventually, failing. Though Julian’s decision to “accidentally” invite them all to Rihanna’s Christmas party may have had something to do with that). Two years ago had Michelle attempting to home-cook a traditional holiday meal—and nearly burning down the Wright manor when the turkey caught fire.

 

This year, though, he was completely alone. The Senator had surprised Michelle with a Mediterranean cruise for their anniversary, and she had reluctantly torn herself from Logan’s side to enjoy the bright sunshine. “Besides,” she’d told him with a smile and a pinch of the cheek, “This just means you can have your friends over without worrying about us fuddy-duddy grown-ups!” Which would all be very well and good, if not for the fact that his friends—all two of them—were spending the holidays in Paris. With Sebastian.

 

He supposes he can’t really blame them. He _had_ been invited, of course; he’d just chosen to decline. He really had no desire to spend his school break in the elaborate Parisian mansion the Smythes undoubtedly owned. (His personal grudge against the newest Warbler had nothing to do with it, of course. Nor did the adoring looks that he too often caught Julian sending the boys’ way.)

 

He hated how much the transfer student had changed in his short time at Dalton. He’d somehow managed to charm every other student in Stuart, weasel his way into being one of the featured soloists in the Warblers, and even managed to fuck with the dynamics of the Stuart Trio. Derek was taken with him immediately, of course. They were essentially the same person, save for their sexuality (“Which just means we can trade tactics without having to worry about competition!” Derek had told him excitedly), with their flirtatious ways and ability to bed anyone they set their sights on.

 

Of course, _Sebastian’s_ sights had promptly been set on Julian.

 

Logan vividly remembers the day Sebastian walked into Stuart and changed everything. He hadn’t thought much of him, at first. He’d just been some new transfer student; obviously gay, by the looks of his perfectly groomed hair and the way his shoes matched both his belt and the designer messenger bag that hung from his shoulder. Logan may have even _liked_ him, if he hadn’t seen the look that crossed his face when he first caught sight of Julian.

 

He’d been mid-sentence, answering Logan’s question (Required for the student database, of course; as if Logan would give enough shits about some new kid to ask him questions about his life) about extracurricular activities. In the midst of talking about his experience with his acapella choir in Paris, he’d paused, gaze flickering to something just beyond Logan’s shoulder. The corners of his lips turned upwards, a small smirk gracing his face as his eyes sparkled.

 

He looked as if he’d just seen his next meal.

 

“Well. If it isn’t _the_ Julian Larson,” he’d drawled, giving him a rather slow once-over as the actor approached.

 

Logan had rolled his eyes, inwardly groaning at having to eventually deal with another one of Julian’s fan boys.

 

That is, until Julian had stepped forward, looking almost awestruck.

 

“… _Sebastian?”_

 

Logan had promptly been forgotten—by _both_ boys—as the two stared into each other’s eyes, unreadable expressions on both faces. 

 

And that set the tone for the rest of the semester.

 

Sebastian and Julian weren’t dating, per say. Just dancing around each other, trading flirtatious looks and exchanging innuendoes comments. Logan _had_ caught Sebastian sneaking out of Julian’s room early in the morning more times than he’d like to think about. He’d seen too many trailing hands, too many secret looks. Still, both boys claimed that they weren’t in a relationship. (“We’re just having a bit of fun, aren’t we kitten?” Sebastian would say with a smirk and a coy wink, and Logan would watch in disgusted horror as a blush made its way across Julian’s cheeks.)

 

So then why, Logan could have argued if he actually _wanted_ to know the answer, did neither of them pay any attention to anybody else?

 

That’s how Logan ended up alone on Christmas, though. He was sick of watching both of his best friends fawn over Sebastian. Sick of watching Derek practically _swooning_ as Sebastian shared techniques for getting into the most exclusive clubs, sick of watching the stupid _looks_ on Julian’s face as Sebastian’s fingers trailed down his arm. ( _Looks that used to be directed at_ you, his mind screamed, _whether you noticed or not.)_

 

Somewhere across the Atlantic (146 Rue de Crimeé, specifically, though Logan tried to block out any information regarding Smythe from his mind), Julian and Derek were no doubt enjoying Christmas Eve dinner, probably consisting of some kind of expensive escargot or caviar. (Sebastian just seemed the type.)

 

He heaved a heavy sigh, flopping down on the couch and nearly knocking over his half-empty bottle of scotch in the process. He half-wished he _had_ gone to Paris with the others, if only so he had someone else to spend the holidays with. Although he was a rather introverted individual, being alone during _Christmas,_ of all things, was depressing as fuck.

 

The grandfather clock in the hallway chimed just then, the twelve clangs echoing throughout the empty house.

 

“Merry fucking Christmas to me,” Logan said hollowly, raising his glass in a solitary cheers.  He swallows the remainder of his drink, wincing a bit as the burn trickles down his throat.

 

It’s somewhere between bottles one and two that he falls asleep, glass tipping out of his hand and landing with a dull thud on the carpet.

 

He flits in and out of dreams: terrible dreams where a laughing Derek and Julian walk past him, making their way to a grinning Sebastian instead. Dreams that make him want to vomit, where he finds Julian in Sebastian’s bed, hair rumpled and clothes scattered across the floor. Odd dreams that give him a funny feeling in his stomach, where Julian tumbles into his arms, pressing kisses against his lips until Sebastian is but a faint memory.

 

Then comes the oddest dream at all. The detailed, vivid one that sends shivers down his spine and makes his teeth chatter.

 

Mr. Harvey stands in front of him, silently looking down at the figure sprawled across the couch as the fire dances behind him. Logan frowns, rubbing at his eyes as he struggles to a seating position.

 

“…sir?”

 

A strange smile spreads across the man’s face, eyes twinkling in the dim light.

 

“Hello, Logan.”

 

“But you’re dead.”

 

Logan regrets the words instantly. They’re a bit harsh, obviously, but hell, the man is _dead_.

 

“I am, yes,” Mr. Harvey continues smiling.

 

“…then how are you _here_?”

 

“I’m here because you need me, of course. I’ve always had the utmost interest in my students well-being.”

 

“’m _fine,_ ” Logan protests, kicking the empty glass beneath the coffee table in a move that he hopes is subtle.

 

“Is that why you’re drunk and alone on Christmas?”

 

Logan doesn’t have a response, and Mr. Harvey sighs, perching on the armchair beside the sofa and reaching for Logan’s hand.

 

“I’m here,” he says, “to help you get your life back on track.”

 

Logan blinks in confusion, and Mr. Harvey gives him a pitying look.

 

“You used to be _happy_ , Logan,” he squeezes his hand, “What happened?”

 

“I was never happy,” Logan says bitterly, “I don’t know what _happy_ is.”

 

Mr. Harvey shakes his head, pulling back and— _disappearing_? He looks a little fuzzy around the edges, and Logan starts to second-guess his decision to drink copious amounts of alcohol before bed.

 

“You’ll see, Mr. Wright,” he says, “Tonight, you’ll learn to understand.”

 

“What does that even _mean?_ ”

 

“Tonight, you’ll be visited by three spirits. Each will show you a different period of your life. If you learn your lesson correctly, you’ll learn how to be happy again.”

 

He’s almost transparent now. Logan can see the flames _through_ his body, and it gives him a painful recollection of Hell Night that he shakes off with a hard blink and a shudder.

 

When he opens his eyes again, Mr. Harvey’s gone.

 

“Well _that_ was a weird dream,” he mutters. He curls back up on the couch, wrapping his arms around the pillow and drifting further into sleep.

 

It’s just past three in the morning when Logan’s roused again. The figure in front of him stands silently, rocking on its heels with arms clasped behind his back.

 

Logan jolts upward, blinking rapidly as he struggles to take in the sight in front of him.

 

“What are you…who _are_ you?”

 

The figure smiles angelically, blond hair framing his face, “Don’t you know?”

 

Logan stares at him for a moment, eyes flickering up momentarily, to the picture that Michelle had hung over the mantle when she found it buried in a box in the attic. The picture of him, at age eight. The picture that looked absolutely _identical_ to the boy standing in front of him.

 

“You…you look like _me_.”

 

The smile widens, showing off two missing front teeth. “That’s ‘cause I am!”

 

“…that’s it,” Logan growls, rolling over and burying his face in the back of the couch, “No more alcohol before bed.”

 

Two small hands grasp at his shoulder, and the voice takes on a slightly whiny tone, “You can’t go to sleep _now_. I’m supposed to take you somewhere.”

 

“Take me _where_?”

 

The boy—the boy that is most certainly not _him_ —says nothing, just continues to tug at his arm. After a moment or two, Logan turns to glare up at him.

 

“If I go with you,” he says, “Will you let me _sleep_?”

 

“After I bring you back,” he promises, “You’ll never see me again.”

 

“…fine.”

 

The boy grins, and his grip on Logan’s arm tightens almost painfully. But Logan doesn’t have time to complain: they’re suddenly falling, twisting through space at a rate that makes Logan’s stomach twist. It doesn’t last more than half a minute or so before he crashes violently to the ground, limbs sprawling across hardwood floors as he grunts in pain. He kind of wants to stay there, wallowing in pain and misery until this weird night ends. But then those hands are on him again, tugging at his shoulders.

 

“Get up, get _up!_ It’s starting!”

 

Logan almost snaps at him, tells him to fuck off, until a familiar laugh rings through his head. He pushes himself up and quickly takes in his surroundings.

 

He’s in Julian’s house, the one in the Swiss Alps where they’d spent Christmas together freshman year. He’d only been there once, but he’s absolutely sure of it. The same expensive white leather furniture, the same elaborate fireplace, the same life-size picture of Julian with his first Emmy framed beside the television (which Julian had been completely embarrassed about, flushing bright red as Derek taunted him about it). The conclusion is further cemented by the fact that Julian himself lies across the couch, a wide smile on his face as he chatters into his phone.

 

He looks so _young_ , Logan thinks, taking in the mess of dark hair falling across the boy’s face, the awkward length of his limbs in proportion to his torso. It’s how he’d looked freshman year, back when they first met. Logan had forgotten how _adorable_ he was.

 

“I told you, it isn’t that hard!” Younger-Julian says, “You see the red mailbox, right? The one with the rooster-thing on top? Okay, now just turn to your right, see that gate? Now use that code I gave you, it’s oh-six…yeah, my birthday, right. My house is just at the end of the drive, now. The big white one. You’ll see the ridiculous Christmas tree my mom insisted on putting up in the front window. No, are you kidding, I’m not going out there. It’s _snowing,_ Logan.”

 

He rolls his eyes, examining his nails as the voice on the other end of the phone— _Logan’s_ voice, three years earlier—continues the conversation. A few moments later, the doorbell rings, and Julian jumps up with a grin, tossing his phone aside. Logan’s frozen in the living room, watching as a fourteen-year-old Julian skips to the door and lets in fourteen-year-old versions of himself and Derek. He watches in semi-fascination as the younger version of himself (god, had he _really_ cut his hair like _that_?) pulls Julian into a hug, using it as a diversion as he shoves a handful of snow down the brunet’s shirt.

 

“ _Logan!_ ” the boy shrieks, yanking himself away and wiggling awkwardly in an attempt to get the snow out. Derek leans against the doorway, laughing as he watches the mock-fight between the two.

 

“Fucking cabbie,” he complains once they’ve calmed down, “dropped us off at the bottom of the hill because he said the _car couldn’t handle the ice_.”

 

Wow, had they really been that spoiled?

 

“Doesn’t matter, you’re here now,” Julian says, ushering them in and closing the door on the blistering cold outside, “Let’s start this party, shall we?”

 

Logan—the _real_ Logan, not this weird, freshman-age copy or the miniature one beside him—shakes his head, looking between the two versions of himself in confusion.

 

“I don’t understand why I’m here,” he says.

 

“Don’t you remember this?” Mini-Logan asks. He waves his hands, and it’s as if a volume button has been pressed—the three freshman sound quieter, still loud enough to hear, but soft enough so that the two Logans can easily talk (and god, Logan has to come up with a better way of differentiating between all the different versions of himself here).

 

“Of course I do. I just don’t understand why you’re showing me this.”

 

“Isn’t it obvious?”

 

At Logan’s confused look, the young boy sighs, waving his hand again. The scene in front of them speeds up, minutes condensed into seconds as time fast-forwards. After only a moment (what appears to be about six hours or so, in freshman-time) the scene returns to normal. Now, all three of the boys lie sprawled around the living room, cartons of Chinese food spread out between them. Derek’s commandeered the chaise lounge, his favorite pork dish balanced on his chest. Logan and Julian had fought for the couch (a fight that, if Logan’s memory holds true, had ended only when he threatened to tickle Julian into submission), and wound up semi-sharing it. Logan stretched across it, legs thrown over Julian’s lap. Periodically, Julian would poke his chopsticks into Logan’s food, stealing a piece of chicken or a bite of rice. Logan hadn’t complained, hadn’t given Julian dirty looks. Instead, he’d done the same, scooping up forkfuls of Julian’s dish.

 

Logan had almost forgotten how _comfortable_ the three of them had been, back then. Although they’d known each other for only four months, they looked like a _family_. Logan didn’t usually like being touched, and the fact that he’d let Julian sit so close to him, essentially using his legs as a table, was somewhat astounding.

 

“Do you see yet?” The youngest version of him asks, looking a little frustrated.

 

“See what? Derek hogging all the orange chicken?”

 

“No,” the boy sighs, pointing, “See _you_.”

 

Logan frowns, gaze drifting to his fourteen-year-old-self. He didn’t look particularly remarkable in any way. His shirt was new, he remembered that. A gift from Michelle, from—he cringes—Paris. His hair was a bit longer than he wore it now, hanging in front of his eyes; he’d had to brush it away from his face every few minutes.

 

“ _Look_ ,” the boy insists, and Logan does.

 

It’s his face, he realizes. The small, almost hidden smile that tugs at his lips. The way his eyes keep flickering between Derek and Julian, looking at them as if he can’t believe they’re really there.

 

He remembers this.

 

Remembers wondering how long he’d be able to keep them. How long he’d have friends, real _friends_ who hung out with him and stole his food and didn’t laugh at him when he teared up at sappy movies. Remembers how _different_ it was, having two people that he’d do anything for.

 

He’d been so _happy_.

 

“You saw,” the boy says simply, “Finally.”

 

Logan’s throat feels dry. “Why did you bring me here?”

 

“You couldn’t remember being happy.”

 

“Maybe I didn’t _want_ to,” Logan argues, “Because it meant remembering what I’ve _lost_.”

 

The boy just looks up at him, and odd, inquisitive expression on his face.

 

“I think,” he says finally, “It’s time to take you somewhere else.”

 

He reaches up, small fingers tangling in the fabric of Logan’s sleeve.

 

“No…no!” Logan says quickly, stepping back, “I...just a little longer. Please.”

 

“I thought you didn’t want to remember?”

 

“Please.”

 

The boy smiles, gap-toothed.

 

“Go ahead, then,” he says, “I’ll come back when you’re ready.”

 

Logan blinks, and the boy vanishes. No puff of smoke, no fancy hand-waving. Just _poofs_ away, leaving Logan alone and somewhat confused.

 

After a minute or two, he decides to make himself comfortable, settling on the large armchair beside the couch. It’s incredibly cozy, which he somehow didn’t expect.

 

 _(“I can’t sit_ there _,” Julian had protested, “that chair is…it’s hard. And lumpy. I keep telling mom to throw it out.”_

_“There’s a lovely bit of floor right there,” Derek had offered with a smirk, waving at the Persian rug. Julian just scowled, crossing his arms and turning to Logan._

_“Scoot over. You’re sharing.” At Logan’s annoyed look, Julian had simply reached out, lifting the blond’s legs and slipping underneath them. “Is this acceptable, your Highness?”)_

(Now, Logan wonders if that had just been Julian’s excuse to sit close to him. God, he’s an idiot.)

 

He sits for hours, watching as the light streaming in from the windows changes to a burnt orange and then fades completely. He watches Derek put in a movie, watches as Julian gets up to make popcorn and brings back two bowls.

 

“Hope you don’t mind sharing, O Tempestuous One.”

 

He watches himself throw a pillow at Julian’s head, who catches it and grins good-naturedly. Julian sets the popcorn atop Logan’s stomach and pulls a blanket over himself, settling in to watch the movie.

 

And Logan _notices_. He can’t understand how he was so _blind_ , before.

 

He sees the way Julian watches him out of the corner of his eye, waiting until Logan’s hand drifts to the popcorn bowl before he decides to grab some for himself. Sees how Julian’s fingers linger a bit too long over Logan’s knuckles before he pulls away with a muttered ‘sorry’. He sees how, when a particularly funny moment of the movie plays, Julian turns to him as if to gauge his reaction, looking particularly pleased when Logan grins or lets a laugh escape his lips. He sees the _looks_ Julian keeps sending his way, the ones that don’t stop until Derek clears his throat and Julian quickly turns away, red-cheeked.

 

He watches as they go through a second movie, then a third. Derek falls asleep midway through the third, and Julian looks close to drifting off himself. The credits have just started rolling when Julian looks down at his phone, turning blearily to Logan with a sleepy smile.

 

“Hey Lo?”

 

“Hm?”

 

“Merry Christmas.”

 

Logan—the younger Logan—grins, reaching forward to ruffle soft brown hair.

 

“Go to sleep, Jules.”

 

Julian nods sleepily, curling into Logan’s side and dozing off almost instantly. Logan drapes an arm around his waist, smiling softly before closing his own eyes.

 

Logan—the _real_ Logan, and fuck this is more confusing than it should be—stares for a moment, completely mesmerized by how _comfortable_ they look together, how well Julian fits against him.

 

“I don’t mean to interrupt, but we do have two more stops before I take you back,” a small voice pipes up behind him.

 

Logan turns, gaze falling down to the child version of himself.

 

“Where are we going?”

 

The boy doesn’t answer, just reaches for Logan’s hand, and they’re spinning again. Logan squeezes his eyes shut this time, not opening them until he feels his feet firmly touch ground again.

 

They’re in Derek’s house this time, the one in the Hamptons.

 

“Sophomore year?” he guesses. The boy doesn’t have time to answer before three teenagers—a bit taller than the last time—whirl into the room, all talking at once.

 

“Well it wasn’t _my_ job to order the food,” Derek’s saying insistently, and Julian rolls his eyes.

 

“I _told_ you I was going to be late, I texted Logan to do it!”

 

“Well _I_ was a little busy, that was the only time Blaine could Skype. Besides, it was _your_ job.”

 

“I was _at_ my job, actually!” Julian scowls, crossing his arms, “You know, my _real_ one?”

 

“Yeah,” Logan’s voice is tainted with sarcasm, “Because acting is _so hard_ , of course.”

 

Julian’s eyes darken, and he takes a step forward.

 

“You know what,” Derek says diplomatically, “It’s not a big deal. Just start the movie and I’ll order, okay?”

 

Logan shrugs and Julian sighs, but both boys throw themselves down on the couch as Derek disappears to the kitchen.

 

Real-Logan doesn’t miss the way Julian presses himself against the opposite end of the couch, as far away as he can possibly get from the fifteen-year-old blond.

 

Derek re-appears a few minutes later, and the food comes not long after that. But Logan barely touches his food, attention fixated wholly on his phone, a small smile on his face as he composes text after text. Halfway through the movie, Julian heaves a sigh.

 

“Mind turning it up, D? I can’t hear over His Highness’s incessant typing.”

 

Logan shoots him a glare, unceremoniously tossing his carton of food at Julian—and, his current self notices with a painful twinge of guilt, dumping a considerable amount of fried rice over the brunet in the process—and standing.

 

“Don’t bother, Der,” he snaps, “I’d rather actually talk to Blaine than hear this idiot’s comments on Tom Cruise’s ‘ _lack of acting ability’_.”

 

His phone is up to his ear before he can leave the room, and Julian visibly cringes when Logan’s soft “ _Merry Christmas, babe_ ,” filters through the still-closing door.

 

Derek hits pause on the remote, biting his lip as he looks over at Julian. The actor’s brushing rice off of his clothes, expression strained.

 

“Jules…”

 

“Don’t, D,” Julian says sharply, “Just…just _don’t_.”

 

He stands up, pressing the heels of his palms over his eyes—a gesture which Logan knows _now_ means he’s holding back tears. He’s silent for a moment, just standing in the middle of the room.

 

“ _Fuck,_ ” he says suddenly. Before Derek can move, he flees from the room.

 

Logan stands there numbly, watching as Derek leans down, gently sweeping the mess from the carpet.

 

“…he left that night,” Logan tells his youngest self, “I came back to apologize…and Derek said he left. Got called away for some kind of interview, or something.”

 

“He didn’t. He tried to fly back to L.A, I think, but it was snowing too hard in New York. He spent Christmas in the airport. Alone.”

 

Logan swallows hard, blinking back the sudden stinging in his eyes. “He…he could’ve _stayed_.”

 

“Do you really think that? After what you know now, do you really think he would’ve been happy there?”

 

Logan’s _angry_ now, for some reason, and whirls on the kid, “What the hell do you know, anyway? What are you, eight?”

 

The boy looks at him seriously, totally unperturbed, “I’m not _really_ you, you know. I just take the form of something familiar. Now come on, there’s one more stop.”

 

He reaches out again, and Logan sighs, “Where the fuck are we going now, anyway? We didn’t even have Christmas together last year. Julian was working and Derek was with Casey and I got dragged around Europe with my dad and Michelle.”

 

“Exactly,” the boy says, “Paris, right?”

 

Logan’s stomach twists again, and not just because they start spinning again. They land in a shop, this time. He’s about to ask where they are when a bright, familiar voice rings throughout the room.

 

“What about this one, Logan? Look how _soft_ it is…”

 

Michelle’s flitting around the place, a furry white coat in her outstretched arms.

 

The mink coat that Logan had given Kurt for Christmas last year.

 

“Hm…” he watches himself inspect the thing—the _hideous_ thing; honestly, he’d thought he’d been in _love_ with a guy who would actually _wear_ that?—with an inquisitive look, “This…is kind of perfect. He’ll love it.”

 

There’s a tugging on his arm and a young voice in his ear, “Turn around, quick.”

 

He does, obediently, and his stomach drops. Julian’s standing in the doorway, lips slightly parted as if he’s about to call Logan’s name.

 

“I can’t wait to see Kurt’s face when I give this to him,” his own voice says.

 

The effect is instantaneous. Julian’s face falls, the happy smile fading into what might be the most miserable look Logan’s ever seen on his friend. He steps back through the doorway, and another arm locks around his elbow. _Sebastian’s_ arm.

 

“Everything alright, J?” The boy asks, frowning as he looks at him.

 

“Fine,” Julian says, emotionless.

 

“Who is that?”

 

“…doesn’t matter,” Julian turns away, quickly disappearing down the street. Sebastian lingers a moment longer, glancing into the store before following.

 

“That’s how it started, you know,” younger-Logan says quietly, “That was the first night they kissed. He was just so lonely…”

 

“So this is your job?” Logan asks dully, “To make me feel as guilty as possible?”

 

The boy looks at him for a minute, saying nothing.

 

“I think…it’s time for me to take you back. Close your eyes.”

 

Logan doesn’t have it in him to argue.

 

When he opens his eyes again, he’s back on his couch, in front of a cooling fire.

 

He feels worse than he had before, if that’s even possible. He knows none of that was real, knows it’s all just some fucked-up dream that he’d concocted in his alcohol-induced haze. But it hadn’t been entirely false, he knows, because he _had_ been that much of an ass; he _had_ made Julian _that_ miserable.

 

Logan sighs, forcing himself to a sitting position. He buries his head in his hands, letting out a low groan.

 

“I’m _such_ a fucking idiot.”

 

“Well,” a voice drawls from behind him, “I’m not going to argue with that.”

 

Logan’s head jerks up. “Derek?”

 

Derek grins, spreading his arms, “The one and only.”

 

“But…what are you doing here?”

 

“Oh, the _real_ me is in some high-class Parisian nightclub, dancing with this hot redhead with _killer_ legs,” he smirks, “I’m here for work. The ‘ghost of Christmas present’, if you will.”

 

“Are you here to make me guilty, too?”

 

“I think I do enough of that in the real world, don’t you think? Now come on, I have plans with someone tonight, and you are  _definitely_ not her.”

 

He grabs Logan by the scruff of his shirt, pulling him up unceremoniously.

 

“You know the drill,” he says, and Logan’s spinning even faster than before. By the time they land, he’s nauseous, hands clutching his stomach as he glares at Derek.

 

“What the _fuck,_ man? Warn a guy!”

 

Derek shrugs, unperturbed, “I told you, I’m in a hurry. Now. You’ve been beating yourself up because you think Jules and I would rather spend Christmas with Sebastian Smythe than with you, right?”

 

“Well it’s true, isn’t it?”

 

“No,” Derek rolls his eyes, “Sebastian _is_ a pretty cool guy—seriously, if you gave him a chance you might actually like him. But _you’re_ our best friend, you idiot. Didn’t you notice how disappointed Julian was when you canceled last minute?”

 

“I thought he’d be happy,” Logan mutters, “He’d be able to spend more time with _Sebastian_. He’s been fawning over him like a teenage girl all semester.”

 

“Because _you_ barely look at him,” Derek says, irritated, “Julian’s still pretty messed up from last year. He’s needy and lonely and Sebastian pays _attention_ to him—“

 

“I thought you said you _weren’t_ going to make me feel guilty?”

 

“That was before you decided to be an idiot,” Derek grabs his shoulders, turning him roughly around, “Now watch, and tell me if this is _really_ where Julian wants to be.”

 

Logan looks up, a bit surprised by the casual interior of Sebastian’s home. Julian’s sitting cross-legged on the floor, a box of French pastries cradled in his lap.

 

“Raspberry macaroons,” he says with a faint smile, “You remembered.”

 

“Of course I did,” Sebastian walks into Logan’s view with a proud smirk, stretching out on the couch behind Julian and reaching out to play with his hair, “It’s all you eat last Christmas, remember? I’m surprised you still managed to fit into those jeans afterwards.”

 

“Hey,” Julian reaches behind him, swatting at Sebastian’s hand, “You _liked_ those jeans, if I remember correctly.”

 

“Hell yeah, I did.”

 

( _God_ , Logan hates that knowing smirk on Sebastian’s face. Almost as much as he hates the way Sebastian leans down, pressing his lips to Julian’s temple.)

 

(He does, however, like the way Julian moves away just the slightest bit.)

 

“So, um,” Julian fiddles with a macaroon, splitting it in half with a fingernail, “I’m sorry Derek ditched us. I think the lack of breasts was making him physically ill.”

 

“Doesn’t matter,” Sebastian says, “More time I get to spend with you, right?”

 

Julian sighs, tossing his now-mutilated pastry back into the box. “Seb…”

 

Sebastian pulls his hand away, smirk fading. “Still thinking about him, hm?”

 

“…I’m sorry, I just…I feel bad,” Julian runs a hand through his hair, making it stand on end, “Christmas was always kind of our thing, and we missed last year, and I just…him not being here kind of sucks.”

 

Julian hugs his knees to his chest, staring forlornly at the floor. Logan wants nothing more than to get back to the real world, hop on a plane to Paris, and find Julian; to take him in his arms and apologize for _everything_ , beg him to leave Sebastian and just come _home_ with him.

 

“Here,” Sebastian says, pulling his phone from his pocket, “Call him.”

 

Julian looks up, an incredulous look on his face, “You want me to call Logan?”

 

“No,” Sebastian says honestly, “I want you to be happy to be here and maybe make out with me by the fire a little bit, but I kind of don’t see that happening. Now,” he shoves the phone forward, into Julian’s hand, “ _Call him_. Before I change my mind.”

 

Julian’s on his feet almost immediately, thumbs quickly tapping out Logan’s number. He puts the phone to his ear, pacing a bit around the room as he waits.

 

“Hang on,” Logan turns to Derek, “If he’s calling _me_ , and I’m _here,_ then—“

 

“—you won’t answer,” Derek shrugs, “Seeing as you’re passed out drunk on your couch and you threw your phone in the fire after that ‘ _Merry xmas’_ text from your dad.”

 

Logan turns just in time to watch the disappointment on Julian’s face—fuck, when will he stop _disappointing_ him?—when the call inevitably goes to voicemail.

 

“Hey, Lo,” he says softly, “I just…just wanted to call and say Merry Christmas. So um…I guess that’s it. Hope you’re having fun.”

 

He hangs up, an odd, melancholy look lingering on his face.

 

“…J? You alright?”

 

Julian nods, pasting a smile on his face before turning back to Sebastian.

 

“I’m fine. Wanna start the movie?”

 

Sebastian nods, pressing play on the remote as Julian sits beside him. He reaches forward, arm casually looping around Julian’s shoulders. Julian hesitates for just a moment, but eventually leans into the touch, curling into Sebastian’s side in a manner eerily reminiscent of how he had cuddled up to Logan freshman year.

 

The image goes a bit fuzzy, and Logan’s not entirely surprised to realize that he’s started to cry.

 

“…could we go? Please?”

 

“You see what I mean though, right?” Derek’s voice is uncharacteristically gentle, “He wants you here.”

 

“He _shouldn’t_ ,” Logan says, “I’m not…I’m _toxic_. Sebastian’s better for him.”

 

“But he doesn’t love him,” Derek insists, “At least, not the way he loves you.”

 

“He could. If he tried.”

 

“He doesn’t want to.”

 

“But he _should_ ,” Logan pauses, watching as Sebastian’s gaze flits from the TV to Julian, a small smile taking hold of his lips as his fingers rake through Julian’s hair, “He…Sebastian…he loves him, doesn’t he?”

 

Derek bites his lip, looking over at the scene, “…I think so.”

 

“And he makes Julian happy.”

 

“…I guess you could say that.”

 

“Then they should be together. Julian doesn’t need me. I’d make him miserable.”

 

Derek sighs, gently taking Logan’s arm, “I think there’s something you need to see. You know the drill – close your eyes.”

 

Logan obeys, after a moment’s hesitation (it takes him a moment to tear his eyes away from the scene; Sebastian’s still playing with Julian’s hair and staring at him with a smitten look) and a single tear streaks down his cheek.

 

When he re-opens his eyes, he’s back on his couch, staring at the dying embers in the fireplace. He lifts a hand to his cheek and pulls back tear-stained fingers.

 

Fuck, he just wants this night to _end_.

 

He knows that’s not going to happen, though, when a dark, hooded figure steps in front of him.

 

It’s completely cliché, and Logan almost rolls his eyes at the melodramatic scene that he’s managed to create. The figure is completely shrouded in a black cloak, face covered by shadows. It’s tall—almost as tall as Logan, maybe an inch or two shorter—and slender, and it remains silent as it raises a hand in Logan’s direction.

 

“So what, you’re the ghost of Christmas future, or something?”

 

The figure says nothing, just crooks a slender finger.

 

“You’re not going to talk to me?” Logan sighs, half-wanting to roll over and ignore the damn thing. But something tells him it won’t work, that the ghost will just _stand_ there, waiting, until Logan mans up and does something.

 

“Fine,” he says finally, pushing himself to his feet, “Let’s just get this over with. What am I going to see, Julian living happily ever after with Sebastian while I’m miserable and alone? Or dead. I guess dead would be better.”

 

The figure says nothing, just takes Logan’s hand gently. There’s a split second of _something_ , some weird feeling in Logan’s chest as their fingers twine together, but it’s chased away as they go spinning through time, yet again.

 

They land gently, the feeling of plush carpet soft beneath Logan’s feet. He has just enough time to take in his surroundings—cushy white furniture, a gorgeous grand piano, a Christmas tree so tall and ornately decorated that it’s almost absurd, large towers of wrapped presents piled beneath it—before there’s a high-pitched shriek, and two tiny children twirl into the room.

 

“Papa!”

 

Logan looks up, expecting to see a grown-up Julian, or maybe Sebastian, walking into the room.

 

Instead, he sees himself.

 

Taller, with slightly different hair and a bit more muscle definition, but it’s most definitely him.

 

And he looks… _happy_.

 

There’s a huge smile on his face, eyes twinkling as he dips down and scoops up the kids. They’re absolutely adorable—the girl with curly blonde pigtails, tied with bright red ribbons to match her dress; the boy in a shirt that matches Logan’s, dark hair combed back in a similar style—and both shriek as Logan lifts them, tiny arms wrapping around his neck as they press kisses to his cheek.

 

“We finished wrapping our presents, papa!” The girl says happily, “Wanna know what we got you?”

 

“Of course not! It’s supposed to be a surprise, Charlotte, remember?”

 

“Oh,” the girl nods, “I forgotted.”

 

“Daddy home soon?” The boy asks, eyes wide as he looks up at Logan.

 

“Any minute now, Chase. Want to go make sure the cookies are ready?”

 

Both children nod, squirming out of Logan’s arms and running towards the kitchen. Logan just laughs lightly, leaning down to tidy the presents that have tumbled out of their place.

 

“I have _kids_ ,” present-Logan breathes, “I have _kids_ and they _like_ me.”

 

The figure stands silently, head angled towards him in a way that implies that it’s listening.

 

“…they said…they were asking for daddy,” Logan says slowly, “Who were they talking about?”

 

The figure says nothing, but his arm drifts upwards again, one long finger pointing at the wall behind Logan. He turns, and his breath catches in his throat.

 

It’s a huge picture, one that takes up most of the wall, in an ornate frame that looks oddly similar to the one Michelle had picked up at an antique show once. Logan’s in it, a bright smile on his face, eyes crinkled at the corners, arms wrapped around the little girl sitting on his lap. She’s smiling proudly at the camera, her two front teeth missing. One of her hands stretches to the side, tightly grasping the hand of the small boy beside her. His smile is a bit shy, but still just as happy. And behind him, looking happiest of all…

 

“ _Julian,_ ” Logan says breathlessly, “But…there’s no way. I already screwed that up.”

 

There’s a faint sound behind him, which, Logan realizes with a start, seems to be emitting from the hooded figure.

 

“…are you _laughing_ at me?”

 

The figure says nothing, but his hands reach upwards, tugging at the hood until it slips away from his face.

 

“… _Julian_?”

 

Julian smiles softly at him, still saying nothing. As Logan stares, the dark cloak disappears, revealing a casually-dressed Julian.

 

He looks different, but just slightly so. His hair’s a bit shorter, his face a bit more angular. He’s still slender, but he looks healthier than Logan’s ever seen him—he always had been a bit too skinny. He turns away from Logan, turning to the future version of him instead.

 

“Sorry I’m late, babe,” he says as he steps into the room, “Hope I didn’t miss dinner.”

 

Logan looks up from where he’s still straightening the presents, smile widening, “Not yet. But you did miss the near-disaster when I almost burned the kitchen down trying to cook chicken.”

 

Julian laughs, shedding his coat and throwing it over a nearby chair, “There’s a reason we used to stick to Chinese take-out, you know.”

 

“Charlotte told me it wasn’t _real_ Christmas food,” Logan sighs melodramatically as he stands, “I had to learn to make mashed potatoes and everything.”

 

“Aw, poor baby,” Julian steps forward, arms slipping around Logan’s waist, “How am I _ever_ going to make it up to you?”

 

Logan smirks, leaning down to brush his lips against Julian’s, “I’m sure I’ll think of something.”

 

His hands wrap around Julian’s hips, and he leans in, nipping at Julian’s bottom lip.

  
“Um, Logan? We have an audience. And they’re laughing at us.”

 

Logan looks over his shoulder, laughing a little as he catches sight of the two giggling children behind him. He takes a step back, letting one arm loop around Julian’s waist as he fully faces his children.

 

“So. Now that daddy’s home, are we ready to eat?”

 

Both children nod vigorously, and Charlotte skips forward to grab Julian’s hand.

 

“Come on, daddy, look how pretty the food is! I made the macaroni all by myself! Except papa did the stove part, because it’s hot. But I mixed it!”

 

Julian grins, wrapping his own hand around his daughter’s tiny one and following her obediently. Logan lingers a bit behind him, watching with a small smile on his face as his children skip around Julian, chattering about their day (Julian’s lips quirk in amusement as they recount the story of the burnt chicken). He stays there for a moment, gazing at the three in what looks like wonder.

 

“Lo?” Julian turns at the doorway, “You coming?”

 

“…yeah,” Logan smiles, shaking his head as he steps forward, “Yeah, it’s just…Merry Christmas, Jules.”

 

“Merry Christmas, Lo.”

 

Julian stretches upward, pressing their lips softly together before tugging his husband from the room....

 

...and eighteen-year-old Logan is left alone, staring at the now-empty doorway. The edges of the picture start fading, the room slowly starting to disappear around him.

 

“No—“ he says pleadingly, “I—no, I _like_ it here. Can’t I just stay _here_?”

 

Something brushes against his hand, but Logan finds himself incapable of turning his head.

 

“ _You didn’t screw it up,_ ” a voice says behind him.

 

“…Jules?”

 

“ _You didn’t,”_ a hand finds his own, squeezing lightly as everything fades to black, “ _Now come find me, Logan._ ”

 

Logan’s eyes grow heavy, closing even as he opens his mouth to protest. Lips brush against his ear.

 

“ _I love you_.”

 

When Logan wakes, it’s to a splitting headache and an uncomfortably bright light streaming through the windows. The table in front of him is littered with bottles, most closer to empty than full. He struggles to sit, wincing at the movement. Something tugs at his mind, but he can’t seem to get a grasp on what, precisely, he’s supposed to remember.

 

“Here,” a voice says from behind him, “You look like you need this.”

 

Logan turns, frowning as his nose nearly collides with a glass of water. He blinks, eyes drifting upwards.

 

“…Jules?”

 

“Merry Christmas,” he says quietly, pushing the glass into Logan’s hands, “Sorry for intruding on your…party.”

 

“…you’re supposed to be in Paris.”

 

Julian straightens, eyes boring into Logan’s.

 

“Actually,” he says slowly, “I’m supposed to be here.”

 

At Logan’s confused look, Julian continues. “I did some thinking, last night. And I decided that Christmas wouldn’t be Christmas without you. It’s our thing. So I hopped on the soonest flight I could get.”

 

“But…Sebastian.”

 

“Understood. Besides, he had his family. He was fine with it when I told him I wanted to spend Christmas with mine.”

 

Logan shoots him another confused look.

 

“ _You_ , idiot. _You’re_ my family.”

 

Logan’s lips break into a smile, which only widens when Julian’s cheeks tinge pink.

 

“I missed you, okay? Stop smirking.”

 

He moves to stand up, but Logan quickly stops him with a hand at his wrist.

 

“I’ve done some thinking too,” he says, “About us.”

 

“Logan—“

 

But Logan doesn’t give him time to protest. He leans forward, pressing their lips together determinedly. He feels Julian tense for a moment, but he’ll be damned if he lets anything ruin this. So he curls a hand around the nape of Julian’s neck, holding the boy firmly in place until he finally relaxes and kisses back. When Logan does pull away—just slightly—Julian blinks at him.

 

“I don’t… _what?”_

 

“I know there’s still a lot we need to talk about,” Logan says, “But _fuck_ , Jules, it’s Christmas, and I love you.”

 

“You _what?_ ”

 

“I’ll spend the rest of my life convincing you if I have to. All I need is for you to give me a chance.”

 

Julian stares silently for a moment, chewing on his lower lip a bit as he searches for any hint of a joke in Logan’s expression. Logan’s suddenly struck with all the ways this could go wrong, from _that was the worst kiss of my life please die_ to  _Sebastian finally asked me out and I said yes_ to _I changed my mind turns out I don’t like dick at all sorry_. And if Julian says anything like that, he’ll back off. But if there’s a chance, just the slightest, most fleeting image of a _chance_ …

 

Well, Logan will fight to the fucking death to win his heart.

 

Julian takes a deep breath, gaze flitting down to the hand that Logan still has resting over his own. He meets Logan’s eyes again, nodding slightly as he finally settles on an answer.

 

“…kiss me again.”

 

Logan gladly obliges.

 

It’s not perfect.

 

Not yet.

 

But they’ll spend this Christmas cuddling by the fire, laughing at Derek (who’d been spying from the kitchen as Logan finally confessed, and had apparently broken one of Michelle’s crystal serving platters in his excitement) as he got tangled in bows and wrapping paper. By next Christmas their relationship will be solidified, all feelings and doubts out on the table. It isn’t until their sixth Christmas (ninth, if you count the pre-dating ones) that Logan proposes, reaching into the Christmas tree— _“oops, looks like there’s one more present in here…”_ —and pulling out a tiny velvet-covered box. On their seventh, Julian finally makes an honest man out of him, and Derek winds up tackling them both into a snowbank after the ceremony. Charlotte is born two days before their ninth Christmas, and the pile of presents is stacked almost taller than the tree itself. 

 

And on their twelfth, Logan makes their first _real_ Christmas dinner, with the help of two angels he’s lucky enough to call his children.


End file.
